Sunday, December 11, 2016

This morning, my son had his Sunday School Christmas Program. There were kids who I couldn't hear reading their parts. Kids who wouldn't stand in the right place. Kids who rang their bells at the wrong time. Kids who left their candy canes on the floor.

Then, this afternoon, we celebrated my daughter's sixteenth birthday with our families. We had a party in the afternoon and evening. We talked, sang, ate cake and ice cream, and had filet mignon (I'm not kidding). Oh, and my daughter got some presents.

Two years ago on this date, my son had another Christmas program . . .

December 11, 2014: Clown in a Ring, Son's Christmas Program, Good DayBut the crowd loved it. Avery heard nothing but the applause. He
liked being a clown in a ring, with everybody watching, in front of a
grandstand. When he discovered there was still a little water left in
the bottom of the pail, he raised the pail high in the air and dumped
the water on himself and made faces. The children in the grandstand
screamed with appreciation.Avery, as I've said
before, is a typical little boy. He loves getting dirty, playing with
frogs, collecting bugs. And he loves being the center of attention.
Any opportunity that arises, Avery will try to grab the spotlight, even
at Wilbur's award ceremony.My son isn't
quite as bad as Avery. My son gets shy in front of large crowds. I
don't know where he gets it from. I am not a shy person. Neither is my
wife. In fact, we met in the theater. I was directing a production of
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and my wife auditioned. We
love being onstage. I love giving poetry readings, being in the front
of a classroom. These are a few of my favorite things, to quote The Sound of Music.Today
was my son's Christmas program at school. We spent the morning in a
crowded gymnasium, packed into seats that were designed for residents of
Munchkinland. The music was too soft. The kids sang off-key. Some
kids yawned in the middle of songs (my son included). Some kids started
crying when they saw all the people in the audience. And that many
people in close quarters tend to exude a communal aroma that can be a
little nauseating.It was a great morning.I
didn't have to go to work. I was able to clean my house, send some
e-mails, and listen to Christmas music. A good day. Tonight, I may
actually be able to relax a little bit. No grading. No sweeping or
vacuuming. No pressing writing projects. Maybe I'll read something for
pleasure. Take a nap. Write a poem.Or maybe Saint Marty will do...absolutely...nothing.

I have another poem for you tonight.

The Happiest Person in North America

by: Martin Achatz

According
to a Gallup poll,

The
happiest person in America

Is
tall, not Jimmy Stewart tall,

But
not Tom Cruise short. He

(Of
course a man, women need

Not
apply) is Asian-American,

To
insure aptitude for math,

Science,
I suppose.He must

Be
an observant Jew, Christians

Tending
to be too Republican,

Therefore
humorless, Muslims

Raising
eyebrow threat levels

On
airplanes too much to allow

For
vacations in Europe, Fiji,

Greece.No, a Jew, enlightened

Enough
to appreciate the writing

Of
E. L. Doctorow, but strict

Enough
to take Yom Kippur off work.

He
should be 65 years of age

At
least, ready to collect

Social
Security for a few years

Before
the money runs out.

Married
with children.

His
wife should be up

For
kosher late night dinners,

Skinny-dips,
Tony Bennett songs.

His
children, graduates of Brown,

UCLA,
make trips home for

Radish
and salt at Passover.

He
lives in Hawaii, snorkels

Coral
reefs in Huaname Bay,

Stops
at roadside fruit stands

To
buy fresh-cut pineapple.

He
has his own business, something

Non-stressful
like surf blogger,

Hot
air balloon captain, pastry chef,

Earns
more than $120,000 a year,

Not
enough to attract the attention

Of
relatives, but enough to pay

For
botox, liposuction, Kindles.

This
man is happiest.Satisfied.

Wakes
at dawn to sit lotus,

Watch
the Pacific surf, kiss

His
wife of forty years before

She
goes for her morning jog.

Statistic
perfection, as unattainable

As
Liz Taylor’s violet eyes,

As
peace between Israel, Palestine,

As
John Lennon’s no Heaven, no Hell,

One
Gallup world, living as one.

PLEASE VOTE FOR ME (MARTIN ACHATZ) FOR POET LAUREATE OF THE U. P. AT THE LINK BELOW:

Hagiography

I am a father, husband, poet, teacher, musician, Christian, son, brother, friend, free thinker (not necessarily always in that order). I try to love everybody and dislike only those who deserve it (but in a kind, funny, sometimes sarcastic manner). Take everything I say with a grain of salt (or a shot of tequila--your choice). I don't mean to offend anyone. My only goal is to make you laugh and think a little.

Future Blog of Note

Yes, I will one day be a Blog of Note. This little box will remain here until the good folks at Blogger award me the recognition I so richly, and humbly, deserve. I am also a future winner of the American Book Award, Pulitzer Prize, and Nobel Prize in Literature.

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